


The Cosmos, From Start To Finish

by berlynn_wohl



Category: U2
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Non Consensual, Science, Shower Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-09
Updated: 2002-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl





	The Cosmos, From Start To Finish

**ONE**

"How the bloody hell do you wear this thing?" As if the concept of wearing a toga wasn't silly enough in this day and age, Bono was having difficulty putting his on properly. He held two corners of the sheet that ought to be tied to secure the getup, but they were too short and wouldn't meet. With a practiced helpless gaze Bono turned to plead for Edge's assistance but found him otherwise engaged.

"Would you put that book away? This is supposed to be a night of drunken revelry."

"You know better than to buy me books," Edge grumbled, and set his latest fascination aside so he could play fashion consultant. He grabbed one corner of Bono's sheet, looping it over his other shoulder. That way, the corners could meet with room to spare.

"Like that," he muttered. He didn't feel completely comfortable in his own toga, although that may just have been because he was still sober. "Whose idiotic idea was this, anyway?"

Bono grinned. "Here in America they have a thing called the Fifth Amendment..." He was just about to explain it when they heard a shout and a splash outside. They raced each other to the window and looked down to the patio. Adam had pushed Larry into Jimmy Iovine's pool. No one was rushing to Larry's aid, probably for fear of becoming the vicarious target of his wrath.

"It's gonna be one of those nights," Edge said.

Bono laughed heartily. "Yes, but would you have it any other way?"

Warm breezes blew over the crystal-chlorinated water, libidos went unchecked, but that night, in that room, the guest of honor did not feel the tropical, liquid atmosphere that was driving the others to Caligulan excess outside. Bono put a hand on Edge's left shoulder, the bare one, and asked if everything was all right. With a sigh, Edge gazed out the window, blankly, as though Larry were not there in his line of vision, thrashing his way out of the pool and swearing to Adam that yeah, he _better_ run.

Edge did not want to be rude and shrug Bono's hand away, but Bono could feel Edge's body temperature drop at his touch, like an inborn defense system. He took his hand off that shoulder in case Edge had also learned how to excrete some sort of poison. "What's so riveting about that book anyway?" he asked.

"It's doing a good job of keeping my mind off other things."

Bono meandered over to the bed and picked up the book. "Man and the Universe," an oversized, illustrated guide to all things cosmic. It seemed heavier than when Bono found it at the bookstore, as though Edge had been putting things into it rather than getting things out of it. Bono flipped through the pages, glimpsing vibrant Hubble photographs of cosmic mist. "Oh yeah? Other things?"

"I just wish Aislinn could be here," Edge said, putting a merciful end to Bono's freight-train brand of subtle inquiry. "I've been so lonely, lately."

"Aw, come on, how can you be lonely?" Bono tossed the book back on the bed and gave Edge a friendly sock in the arm. "Everyone is here tonight! And they're here for _you_!"

"They're not here for me. They're here to get drunk and pray for Kylie Minogue's toga to fall off, and ten years from now they'll reminisce about it in their Rolling Stone Interview and not remember why they were there."

"Now wait a minute...Kylie Minogue is here?...Okay listen, I'm going to be honest with you. I know things haven't been looking good. The film got out of hand, and the album's become unwieldy as well. I mean, two hundred and sixty-nine remixes for one song? I know you have a bad feeling about it all, and so do I, but we've got to let it go. The way I figure it is, if we're about to fall on our faces figuratively in the eyes of the public, we might as well get smashed and do it literally here at Jimmy's place. Now he's been nice enough to lend us the guest house and the pool, so let's not be ungrateful, hm?"

 

 **TWO**

Anyone who opined that U2 had no sense of humor would do well to have witnessed this gathering. Actually, that might not have been such a good idea; to see the lads acting up might convince critics that the band's righteous, somber image was just a ruse, a cruel hoax played on fans who had no idea that the money they spent on socially conscious albums was funding drunken orgies.

Everyone, as has been stated, was invited.

Mick Jones was there to discuss with Bono the absurdity of Big Audio Dynamite opening for the first leg of the tour. The Clash's influence on U2 was immeasurable. They were the first band Bono saw live. Now, a member of the Clash was part of U2's support act!

Anton Corbijn was there, and snapped a few pictures, but finally got tired of hearing celebrities and crew members screeching that they simply _couldn't_ have their photograph taken in the condition they were in. Three sheets to the wind, as it were.

Even The Boss showed up. Bruce had already been kind enough to make an appearance onstage in Pennsylvania to duet with his so-called Irish counterpart, and he never refused an invitation from his good friend Jimmy Iovine. Earlier in the evening he had demurely insisted on wearing blue jeans under his toga, in true Springsteenian fashion, but by now they had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Such was the nature of the gathering.

There was no shortage of beautiful women, either, and Adam was seducing most of them. The average man will start with their most desirable woman and, if they fail to win her, will move on in descending order. But Adam gave all the girls equal time, presumably because he expected to pull them all, anyway, so what did the order matter?

Seeking vengeance for the pool stunt, Larry snuck up behind Adam, divested him of his toga, and ran off with it. A few gasps and giggles were elicited, but Adam just shrugged and continued flirting with two of the girls he'd been chatting up all evening.

Bono found a somewhat forlorn Anton Corbijn over by the hors d'oeuvres, clutching a camera, and asked if he could borrow it.

"Go ahead," Anton said, dejectedly handing it over. "No one's letting _me_ use it tonight."

Grinning, Bono took the camera over to the other side of the pool, where he found a somewhat intoxicated but still pensive Edge reclining in a posh chaise lounge just outside the spheres of poolside lamplight, staring at the sky. Bono held the camera up and took a picture.

Edge jumped. "What did you do that for?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess there aren't enough pictures of you looking quiet and thoughtful."

"Right. Just like there aren't enough pictures of you looking self-assured and salient."

Bono sat in a chaise lounge next to Edge and leaned back to share the view. There were no stars to see in the sky over Los Angeles, but the moon was blindingly bright. Edge seemed not to notice or care, but he spoke up just before the silence settled in over them. "I've read that women's bodies are synchronized with the Moon," he said.

"That would explain why they can be such lunatics sometimes. Was that in your book?"

"Do you think that's true? Do you think that means men's bodies are attuned to the sun?"

Bono had a way of pausing before answering a question that suggested that he'd spent much time mulling over the topic but never expected that one day he'd be called upon to articulate it. "I guess," he murmured, "I never divided people that way. I mean, I never saw all femininity as being the Moon and all masculinity as being the sun. I think the moon and the sun are in opposition, but they represent something beyond gender. Ali, for instance, she's the sun. She is clarity and brilliance."

Edge didn't want to talk about wives. "Personally, I think women got kind of a raw deal in the symbolism department. I mean, the Moon is a satellite. It revolves around a celestial body that revolves around another celestial body, the masculine sun. What a way to put women in their place."

"Oh I don't know," Bono whispered. "I wouldn't mind being a satellite. Revolving around a celestial body..."

There was a long silence, the kind of silence reserved for contemplating the universe. Then, with a jolt, Bono leaned forward and swung his legs over so he was facing Edge. "Watch this," Bono said as he fished the cherry out of his rum-and-coke. "I'm gonna tie a knot in this cherry stem with my tongue. Nassim taught me how." Edge supposed he should not have expected Bono to be in the mood for existential discourse; he wasn't THAT drunk yet. But admittedly he was curious about Bono's trick; he'd never seen it performed. Apparently you had to hold the stem in a U-shape between your teeth, then use your tongue to cross the ends over. He watched as Bono slid the stem between his lips and moved his tongue around in his mouth. He couldn't quite tell what was going on, if Bono was doing it according to protocol or if he was inventing his own method. Or, for that matter, if he had hidden an already-tied knot in his mouth which he would reveal momentarily. But when Bono's eyes closed in concentration and his tongue darted out for a moment, Edge suddenly didn't want Bono to succeed, he wanted Bono to keep working his jaw, so he could watch.

As it turns out, and any fan could tell you this, Bono just couldn't control his tongue. He spat the stem out in frustration, insisting that he'd done it once. "Nobody's ever around when I do anything _really_ amazing," he complained. He stood up too quickly, got a bad head rush, and stumbled. Edge rushed forward to catch him. Bono felt like lead in his arms, relaxing and letting himself fall into Edge's grip. His body heat blazed through the sheet beneath Edge's fingers. The fabric was so thin.

"Geez, Bono, aren't you even wearing anything under your toga?"

"Are you?"

Edge gulped. "I asked you first."

Bono looked up at Edge and groaned. "I think I'm drunk." Bono also had a way of ignoring questions that he desperately wanted you to know the answer to.

As he got his feet back under him, he pulled himself from Edge's arms and looked again to the night sky with a cheesily obvious pondering expression.

"You're like my North Star, you know. Something I can always count on to watch over me. A constant."

"But the North Star isn't a constant."

"Isn't it?"

"Well for now. But, you see, the Earth wobbles in its orbit, like a spinning top. So every twenty-six thousand years the North Star changes. In another thirteen thousand years, the North Star will be Vega."

Bono sighed. "I should have bought you the book about the Serengeti instead. Come on, let's go find Kylie."

"No, you know what, I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Bed? It's only three! We've got the whole night ahead of-well, the night is behind us, I guess, but there's plenty of morning left."

"I'm tired. And I need to get out of this ridiculous costume."

"Ridiculous?" Bono sighed as he accompanied Edge back to his room. "You are so disgustingly tasteful. It's really a liability, you know."

The interior light was dim but penetrating. Seemingly alone in the posh corridor, Bono realized the silliness that Edge had felt all evening about wearing a bedsheet. "Hey, Edge, why don't you just change clothes and give it another chance. Maybe you'll feel more like coming back out if you put on something else."

"No, I don't think so. Look, I'm not criticizing your idea...well, I am actually...but it's just been so many late nights in the studio, and now that it's done I really just want a chance to re-energize, I think."

"If that's how you feel..."

Edge looked out the window to take one last look at the debauchery. "You never did wish me a happy birthday."

"Oh. Well, Happy birthday, Edge."

"Well it's too late now, you sod."

Bono giggled. Edge shook his head. "It's not that funny..."

Bono gave Edge a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

"I know you do."

But Bono wouldn't stop with the kissing. They were innocent kisses, with just a hint of moisture, but Edge was certain that this was not the same routine kind of gesture Bono extended to him onstage. Bono took Edge's hand and asked for a kiss on the lips. Edge humored him, consented, but then pulled away. "Come on now, that's enough."

"No it's not." Without warning Bono pushed Edge down on the bed, still giggling, and started to pull Edge's toga off his shoulder. But before there was time to blink Edge had wriggled his way out from under Bono and headed quickly and awkwardly for the door.

"Hey, em, you know what? I think I will go back out there after all. I mean, it would be rude of me to leave, I am the guest of...honor..."

Edge shut the door quietly behind him, stunned, but once he was down the hall he was not too worried. Bono was pretty bombed; he didn't know what he was doing. He just hoped Bono wouldn't remember it in the morning. The apologies would be so awkward.

Bono didn't forget, it turned out, but he didn't apologize.

Edge couldn't tell if the change he felt in the atmosphere outside was due to his encounter with Bono or to the increased lack of composure among the party guests. He scrounged around and eventually came upon an unopened bottle of imported beer, determined to blaze through his current, ambiguous, paranoia-inducing level of intoxication. But when he saw Bono emerge from the guest house in top form, chatting up the barely verbal guests, flirting with the married women, charming the jaded executives, Edge decided it might be better to keep his wits about him, and discreetly asked Jimmy where he could get a good strong cup of coffee. Jimmy pointed out the rear entrance of his house, which led directly to the kitchen. It was across the way from the guest house; Edge had to wend his way through a field of flesh; women whose breasts had fallen out of their togas and men who'd dispensed with their attire altogether. Remember, in rock n' roll, it's the men who get naked.

Edge was less interested than ever in the pleasures of the flesh as they were presented to him here. He hoped such uniform garb (or lack thereof) had made him more difficult to spot; as he hopped up the steps of Jimmy's back porch, he looked back to find Bono but couldn't. He was relieved to think that Bono was having a mutual difficulty.

He slapped the kitchen wall in search of the light switch, but couldn't seem to find that, either. He settled for the sixty-watt bulb over the stove. The dim light coupled with the slowness of the mingled voices outside gave him a feel for the late hour. He searched gingerly through the cupboards, fearing he'd be found here and suspected of snooping. When he found a Folgers can, he looked up and down for the coffee maker, setting eyes upon a futuristic-looking contraption that he figured couldn't be anything else. It had been so long since he made his own coffee, he'd fallen completely behind the times when it came to design. He ran his fingers over the coffee-maker, trying to find, in the semi-darkness, the right buttons to push. The design was not only deceptive, it was convoluted; Edge couldn't figure out how the thing worked! He grew frustrated, and did not hear the bare feet hitting the floor behind him.

Bono's arms slid around Edge's shoulders. "Having trouble?"

Edge would have jumped but Bono was holding him tight and Edge only backed into him.

"Jesus, don't scare me like that!"

"Why did you run away from me?"

Edge turned around and leaned on the counter. "I didn't run away. I left."

"Oh, Edge, I don't like it when you leave me." Bono put an arm around him and whispered into his ear. "Why did you leave me?"

"It just...made me uncomfortable."

"What made you uncomfortable?"

"Don't make me say it. You know."

"Oh, but I don't. You need to tell me." He wrapped himself around Edge, pinning his arms to his sides. "Or else how will I know not to do it again?"

Bono's hot breath on his neck made Edge relax into the grip that held him, if only for an instant. Edge was not weak; he could overpower Bono if it came to that. Just let him have his way, Edge thought, and make a quick escape when his back is turned.

But Bono kept his eyes on Edge, his voice a throaty whisper. "Hm? What did I do wrong?"

"Do you want some coffee? I was just about to make some for myself. I really think it would make you feel better..."

"I feel just fine right now," Bono leaned in and breathed into Edge's ear. "Right here."

Edge closed his eyes and let Bono's warmth spread to his body. "Let me go," he said calmly, "so I can make some coffee."

Bono loosened his grip and stood back. His eyes never left Edge, they hovered over his body, drawing invisible lines down his arms and back. Edge got the coffee-maker working and turned around to wait.

"Do you have to stare?"

"I'm not staring," Bono said, as he stared.

Edge squirmed; he'd hoped Bono would be distracted , or would at least turn his back for two seconds. "Your eyes are going to burn holes in my sheet," he said.

"That would be a shame," Bono said, and stared harder.

"Jimmy will be angry that you ruined a perfectly good linen."

"I will buy. Jimmy. A new sheet." Bono approached Edge again; his arms were not reaching out this time but his eyes were doing plenty of reaching in their stead. "You're so anxious," he growled. "I could feel it in your shoulders. And here." He pressed a hand to Edge's stomach, which was tense with fear. "All these muscles...so flat and hard...that coffee's not going to help. What you need---"

"I don't think I need any of what you're offering tonight." Edge shut the coffee-maker off. "You know what? You're right. Fuck it. Forget the coffee." And he left.

By now the crowd was thinning, and Edge could not hope to lose himself in it as he crossed the patio. Bono called to him, to no avail, but followed closely behind through the crowd, into the guest house, and down the corridor.

"Come on, let's talk about this. Seriously, we'll just talk I promi---Edge! Don't you close that door!"

When Edge reached his room, Bono quickened his pace to avoid being shut out. He slipped in, Indiana Jones-style, just as Edge swung the door closed behind him. Unable to slow himself in time, he crashed into Edge and nearly knocked the two of them over.

"God damn it, Bono!"

Bono grabbed Edge around the waist from behind and giggled, his face buried in Edge's hair, which may have begun to thin on top but which spilled down his back in thick waves. Bono whispered again giddily. "Edge..." He pushed the long hair away from the nape of Edge's neck and kissed it, lingering there. Now that his hair had grown so long, his neck was often deprived of sensory pleasure. He hardly ever even felt a breeze blowing over it, an exquisite sensation that one doesn't realize they've missed until another person is breathing, panting, on it.

"Bono, what are you doing? Come on, we're both drunk. This is not going to look good in the morning..."

"What are you getting so upset about? It's just a little kiss." Bono tried to be delicate, but the rum had impaired his coordination, and he mashed his nose against Edge's cheekbone as he kissed him. He leaned forward and took Edge's chin in his hand, tilting his head so their lips could meet.

"Bono..."

"Shhh....it's just a little kiss..."

"I told you I'm not interested."

Bono slid his hand down and grasped Edge's erection. "Oh yeah? Then what's this?" He gently rubbed it through the sheet. "Huh? What's this?" When Edge gasped Bono seized the opportunity; he kissed Edge again and shoved his tongue between those open lips. Edge growled and pushed Bono away. "Keep your tongue to yourself!" he said.

"Oh, but your mouth tastes so good..."

Bono's clumsy fingers tugged at the knot in Edge's toga, succeeding only after much struggle to loosen it and let the sheet slip to the floor. Bono stared at Edge's naked body as he removed his own sheet. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Edge's nipple, his thick tongue teasing it as his hands stroked Edge's back. Then he straightened up to gaze into Edge's terrified eyes.

"What's the matter, Edge? It's just a little kiss..."

Edge opened his mouth to speak but only trembled. It was difficult to say no to what he was feeling. His erection throbbed and his fingers clutched the air at his sides. Bono put his hands on Edge's ribcage and guided him to the bed. "Come on, lie down," he smiled, "before you fall down."

"Bono...stop...stop it..." Edge pleaded as sincerely as he could, considering he was doing absolutely nothing to actually hinder Bono's actions. Bono stroked Edge's hair and whispered to him in an overly comforting tone, as if he were about to give him a shot.

"Now listen," he said, "It's just gonna be a little kiss..."

Edge looked out the window at the moon, full and bright. There was six times as much gravity on Earth as there was on the moon. That must be, Edge thought, why I am so compelled to lie here. It's all the gravity. Edge wished he were on the moon, kicking up dust in the Sea of Tranquility.

In the corner of his vision, Bono's head bobbed between Edge's legs, and Edge swore he felt some sort of corresponding sensation, but he couldn't tell if it was on the inside of the outside, or even if it was good or bad. Bono moaned with his mouth full, and the vibrations caused the swirl of feelings to quicken and tighten, giving Edge a new clarity about them, a glimpse through the ozone. He wanted to speak, to tell Bono how wrong it was, how good it felt, but again he'd lost the power of speech. The words seemed to have gotten lost somewhere between his groin and his brain. He managed to squeak five syllables:

"No...I don't...want to..."

But he was already coming.

Bono swallowed, cleared his throat, and reached down to grab one of their discarded sheets to cover themselves with. It was too hot for the blankets. "Do you think it's true that only a man knows how to truly please another man?" he asked.

Edge didn't want to turn his head. "I don't know what to think right now."

"What are you looking at?"

Edge blinked.

"Ah. Sister Moon. Hey did you hear about the new restaurant on the moon?"

"The what?"

"Good food, but no atmosphere. Come on, laugh, Edge, that's a joke."

 

 **THREE**

Edge lay face-down on the bed, trying to avoid the morning light, wearing a gray long-sleeved shirt that he'd donned after Bono had finished with him, and nothing else. Bono stopped to admire what he could see of Edge's body. That perfectly sculpted, classically beautiful behind. Typically, when you saw someone half-undressed, it was the other way around; trousers but no shirt. Seeing the long fingers clutching the pillow, that tangled mass of hair, the gray fabric clinging to a slender body, and then such a beautiful, naked pair of buttocks; the incongruity of it made it more aesthetically pleasing. It was such a perfect piece of human anatomy, it almost made Bono angry because it was _too_ perfect. He felt an urge to defile it; he just wanted to grab it and bite it and fuck it and come all over it. Bono stared unabashedly as Edge slumbered, committing the sight to memory. But for a moment his eyes strayed to the end table by the door, and he realized he didn't have to. Anton had left without retrieving his camera.

However much of a rollicking klutz Bono was, he knew when it was in his best interest to move silently. He glided over to the table and carefully picked up the contraption. He preferred a nice thirty-five millimeter auto-focus camera, himself. It was easier to master. But Edge's sprawled beauty was just so priceless, and besides, how hard could it be?

The camera, that is. To operate.

Bono stood over the bed and aimed the camera. No, it wouldn't do; the angle was too high. He got down on his knees, but found the angle was too low. Perhaps if he sat on a chair. He pulled one over to the side of the bed. Ah, perfect. He fiddled with the lens, indecisive about whether to soften the focus for aesthetic value. After all, the difference between art and pornography is simply a matter of focus. When he arrived at an acceptable level of haziness, he pressed the button. The shutter's click was noisier than Bono expected, and Edge leapt from his slumber. He flipped over and covered himself with a sheet, staring in horror at the camera in Bono's hands.

"What the fuck are you doing? Did you just take a picture of me?"

"I'm sorry, it was such a gorgeous sight, I just had to preserve it for...posterity."

Edge lunged for the camera. "Have you lost your mind? What's gonna happen when Anton goes to develop that roll of film?"

"Who says he's going to?" Bono pulled the camera out of Edge's reach and turned it over in his hands, grinning. "I might just have to convert my study into a darkroom."

Edge found his trousers and put them on, giving Bono the evil eye as he did so. But then he picked up the hairbrush from the nightstand and held it out to Bono, who took it and patted a spot on the mattress in front of him.

Bono kept his hair at a reasonable length, but Edge's had grown so long that he couldn't wield it himself. He asked Bono to brush it for him before they left the hotel each day.

Sometimes Bono would sing while he did it. Just bits of songs, lines he'd been knocking round. "I'm writing this one for Nina Simone, I think. It goes...Love is blindness....but I don't want to see...."

This morning, he whispered to Edge in a conspiratorial tone, describing in vulgar detail what they'd done the night before and things he had planned for them to do. But he also observed a ritual which they had begun after he'd bought Edge that copy of "Man and the Universe." Each day, as Bono began with the brush running choppily just through the ends, he asked, "So what new things have you learned?"

It was difficult for Edge to concentrate. Bono ran his hands over Edge's scalp and made it tingle, pushing through the russet mass to check for matted spots. Edge liked it when Bono touched him in this manner, when he stopped brushing to get the tangles out and started brushing just because it made Edge feel good. He shivered and gasped with unexpected touches of the bristles and Bono's fingertips. It was terribly erotic, though in a nice, safe way. It took a lot of trust to let another person brush your hair. It's important for that person to be empathetic and perceptive, to minimize the pain.

Today, Edge answered, "Well, I learned that the craters on Mercury are named for artists and writers. Bronte, Tolstoy, Chekov, Durer...If you could have a crater named after you on any planet in the solar system, which would it be?"

Bono was not particularly interested in this question. Edge sounded like Barbara Walters. "Well, what's the biggest planet?"

"Jupiter."

"Then Jupiter."

"There are no craters on Jupiter; it's a gaseous planet."

"Oh....Well, can I just get my own planet?"

"You're such a megalomaniac."

"Hey you know what we could do?" Bono said. "One day, we could be the first band to play Mars! I think I'd like that."

"Aren't we on the road enough already?"

"Mars is smaller; it wouldn't take as long."

"How'd you know that?"

Bono pointed. "Says so right there."

"Hey. Pay attention to your work."

Bono sighed and kept brushing. He was tired of talking about planets anyway. "Edge, do you think eye color is really that important? I mean, people go on and on about how beautiful someone's eyes are and it's always because of their color. But really I think if a person has expressive eyes it doesn't matter if they're blue or brown or purple or plaid. Don't you think so?"

"I guess I've never thought about it. You're probably right though."

"I mean, look at David Bowie. He's got one brown eye and one blue eye, and he does okay for himself. I'm more interested in what the eyes can communicate. Your eyes, for example..."

It was a weapon he employed sparingly, to increase its fearsomeness: The Gaze. He looked into Edge's eyes as if for the first time. "You eyes are perpetually innocent. A rock star who has seen the world and all its iniquities and yet you remain untainted. It's as though you've never seen corruption."

Edge was tiring of Bono's goofy little games. "I'm think I'm looking at corruption right now."

"Oh you haven't seen corruption yet," Bono growled, and unzipped his trousers. He guided Edge's hand towards his cock, wrapping Edge's fingers around it with his own. His breath quickened. "Jerk me off," he whispered.

Edge complied, and Bono twisted beneath his hand. Edge couldn't figure it out: a hand job was boring work anyway, and he certainly wasn't injecting any enthusiasm into it.

"Good?" he asked.

"Faster," Bono breathed.

"Good?"

"Harder."

"Good?"

"Put it in your mouth."

Bono could already picture the tip of his cock pressed against Edge's lower lip, a clear drop of come trickling from the corner of his mouth. But Edge pulled back, sat up, looked Bono in the face.

"Come on, don't be a cocktease now. It's okay, it's dark in here. No one can see what you're doing."

There was some force Bono exerted, more powerful than gravity, pulling Edge down, and further down. Bono knew just how to growl in the back of his throat to make you shiver. For all his uncertainty, Edge did derive some sort of satisfaction from hearing Bono whimper with pleasure. Edge could never have convinced anyone that he didn't like it. Listening to Bono's sexy noises had given him an erection which he couldn't help rubbing with his free hand. Edge really did want to make Bono happy. When Bono moaned, he would answer back in kind; as though they would ever need to use words to communicate again.

But any confidence he gained was lost when Bono became bad-mannered, pushing Edge's head down to suit a rhythm he preferred, muttering "I love your mouth" as though the rest of him were not there. Edge could taste the pre-come and found it unpleasant. He kept his mind off these things by silently reciting the newly-learned life cycle of a star to himself:

Stars develop from clouds of gas. As the vapors condense, high pressures build up at the center, which triggers a nuclear reaction... "Oh Edge, you're so good." ...this causes a star to shine. When the hydrogen is used up, the star expands to become a red giant. The outer layers disperse into space... "Ah, I'm coming!" ...When the star cools, only a cinder, a black dwarf, will remain.

Edge finished Bono off with his hand, unwilling to swallow his come. Bono didn't notice; once the point of no return is reached, who cares how the job is finished? But when his breathing slowed he looked down and was disappointed at what he saw.

"Why didn't you swallow it?"

Edge shrugged. "Bad timing, I guess." He crawled back up next to Bono and rested his head on the pillow. His hair was messy again.

"Oh, Edge," Bono breathed, "wasn't it great? I loved doing it to you..."

 

 **FOUR**

Some break the lads got. Technically, there were nine months between the Joshua Tree and Love Town tours, but this "time off" was spent slaving in the studio, doing guest shots at other people's gigs, and appearing at a number of extravagant "Rattle and Hum" premieres.

In an L.A. hotel, while they waited for word that it was time to head out, Bono brushed Edge's hair and even braided it for him this time, asking him what new things he'd learned.

"I read a passage about matter in the universe," Edge answered, "which, I sort of knew, it's kind of common sense, but its something you just don't think about. Everything we are, like the calcium and iron in our bodies and the things our bones are made of, it all comes from dispersed stellar matter. So, in a way, we are all made of stars."

"That's interesting," Bono said as he worked at a tangle, but after a moment it sank in. "You know, that's _really_ interesting. You're right, I never thought about that. Someone should write a song about that, or something."

"Bono?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really love me?"

"Of course I love you."

"Because I think you just want to do something with your dick that won't make you feel guilty about Ali."

Bono broke his rhythm with the hairbrush just long enough to give himself away. "That is ridiculous. Don't say things like that, it hurts my feelings." He pulled unsuccessfully at a tangle and Edge yelped.

Shortly before they were due to make their grand appearance, Edge, Larry, and Adam gathered on the mini-stage constructed for them to do a quick sound check. Bono was late, as usual, and the rest of the band carried on without him. No doubt he was out there charming the press and signing autographs. Adam and Larry got tired of prolonging the sound check in the hopes that he would show up, and went out for a smoke. Edge stayed behind and tinkered with the upright piano that had been provided but which was not needed for the numbers they were playing. He was working out a new melody he'd kept meaning to present to Bono in the hopes that someone could make something useful out of it. That's when Bono tromped up, leaned on the side of the piano, and plopped down a dozen red roses.

"Hey Edge...You know what's better than roses on your piano?"

"What is?"

Bono leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tulips on your organ." He grinned like a maniac. "Get it?"

"Yes, I get it."

Bono was laughing uncontrollably. "Get it?! Two li--- Edge, you're not laughing. Walked all over the city to find a flower shop so I could set that joke up! The least you could do is laugh. Look, after the soundcheck we'll have a half and hour. What do you say we go back to the dressing room and lick each other's nipples?"

Edge rolled his eyes in disgust and went to find Adam and Larry. Bono kept his outrageous and suggestive behavior on a leash when those two were nearby.

Their truncated set was fun, if a bit undisciplined, but the band was not enjoying these premieres. During the film, the audience sang along and waved white flags as if they were at a real concert. Outside the theater, throngs of fans, hoping to catch a glimpse of four physically non-descript musicians, were injuring each other and forcing police intervention. Though he did not voice his objections within the band the way Larry did, Edge was filled with doubt. It was nice to be adored, but things were getting out of hand.

After the premiere, Adam invited everyone out for a drink at a local bar where he knew some of the waitresses. Edge declined.

"You guys never want to go out like you used to," Adam said.

Edge frowned. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"It's that book," Bono said. "That's what's making you ill. It's not healthy to read so much about quarks. Come on, I'll walk you back to the hotel."

Adam laughed. "Nobody walks in L.A.!"

"Oh right," Bono blushed. "Em..." Larry volunteered to drop them off on the way to the bar. "Now behave yourselves," he said to them in the car. "I don't want to come back to find that the hottest party in town was in your room all along." Bono coughed and promised to behave. He exited the car and Edge was about to, as well, but Larry held him back.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? You know, I heard you yelling last night."

"Oh...That. Yeah. Had a nightmare. No big deal."

"I see. Why are you wearing Bono's shirt?"

Edge tried his best to make his incredulity sincere. "What? This isn't Bono's shirt."

Larry leaned forward and sniffed. "It smells like Bono's cologne."

Edge shrugged and got out of the car without saying goodbye. When they entered the hotel Bono headed straight for the concierge's desk.

"I'll be with you in just a moment," the woman said without looking up. She shifted the phone to her other ear and copied down an address. "Thank you, have a good evening, sir," she said into the receiver, and hung up. When she looked up and saw Bono, she took a great leap backwards and gasped. Bono smiled patiently. That sort of recognition happened more and more often these days.

"Oh my! You'll have to forgive me..."

"Perfectly alright, darlin'."

"...It's just...your aura...it's so bright!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your aura! Hasn't anyone ever told you, your aura is the most brilliant shade of red. I've never...I mean....Auras like that you only read about in books!" The woman reached out her hand, not touching Bono with it but running it through the air six inches around him. "What's your sign? Are you a Scorpio? I'll bet you're a Scorpio..."

Bono grasped her wrist as it passed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Miss," he kissed her hand and grinned, "but I don't believe in all that New Age rubbish."

The woman giggled despite herself and pulled her hand back. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"It's Bono."

"Bono? I don't believe I've ever heard anyone with such a name before." She smiled turned to a silent Edge. "And you sir? What's your name?"

"I have a feeling you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually I was wondering if you could recommend a restaurant or an all-night cafe where we could get a decent meal."

Edge stared at the floor and whispered, "Bono, I really don't feel like being out anymore tonight."

The concierge dreaded situations like this, where it would be impossible to please both guests. Her job was to make certain that customers always walked away happy, but situations like these, through no fault of her own, often ended with the presence of the manager being demanded.

"If you would like, sir, we can order something from room service for you? Something I'm sure you'll both find agreeable?"  
"Forget that," Bono said. "You know what I want? Take-away Chinese." He turned to Edge. "You feel like Chinese?"

Edge shrugged. "I'm not really hungry."

"Nonsense."

Lana smiled and opened a desk drawer. "There's a Chinese place just down the street," she said as she fished out a menu and handed it to Bono. "Open all night. The number is right there."

"Thank you so much," Bono read the concierge's name-tag, "Lana." He stretched the vowels to the breaking point.

 

 **FIVE**

The bathroom was already choked with shower steam when Edge entered. Bono pulled him in, holding his hand as he stepped over the rim of the tub. "Don't slip," he said. He shampooed Edge's hair and carefully lathered parts of his body which were probably not that dirty. The soap slipped from Bono's fingers and slid across the bottom of the tub. The two men looked at the dropped soap, then at each other. "Oh God," Bono said, "this is just like a bad pornographic film."

Edge reached over Bono's shoulder to the molded shelf behind him. "One more," he said, unwrapping the other bar of soap that the hotel provided.

"You're no fun." Bono took the soap and lathered up his own body, grinning at Edge, who watched and didn't know what to do. Bono tossed the soap aside when he was done and, rather than rinse off, pulled Edge to him and pressed their erections between their soapy stomachs. Their bodies moved against each other with what had become a familiar rhythm, Bono doing most of the work, his hands curving down the length of Edge's spine. He picked up his speed, then slid one hand between them and rubbed Edge's erection, all the while muttering soft obscenities in Edge's ear.

Edge made no noise at all when he came; his eyes rolled back and he grabbed Bono's shoulders for support, holding on long after the shudders subsided. Bono held Edge tightly, but Edge was leaning on him and it was difficult to hold him up when they were both so slippery. He clutched Edge's body to his own and whispered in his ear, barely audible over the running water. "How ironic...two months ago it was all I could do to keep my hands OFF you. Now I can hardly keep my hands ON you. Are you alright? You're so weak. Have you been eating? You know, I haven't seen you eat in three days."

"Things have been very busy..."

Bono pulled Edge under the spray with him to rinse off. Outside, there was a knock on the door. "The food's here. Aw, fuck." Bono jumped out and threw on the hotel robe, not just hurried but panicked, as if they'd been caught. Edge turned the water off and dried himself while Bono paid for the food. The delivery boy confessed, in broken English, that he had a difficult time getting in the building because the desk clerk couldn't believe that U2 wanted Chinese food. When the door shut Bono called, "Come on out, this stuff looks good." Edge wrapped himself in two towels, one for his hair, and opened the boxes and found the chopsticks while Bono went to dry himself properly.

"You know what you have in common with Chinese food?" Bono called from the bathroom. "No matter how much I gorge myself, and hour later I'm hungry again."

Edge rolled his eyes when Bono reappeared, a towel around him. "I'm unworthy of such praise. You lift that from one of Shakespeare's sonnets?" He unwrapped his hair and ran his hands through it, then looked dejectedly at the strands he'd pulled out.

They ate in silence, and afterwards Edge disposed of the strewn empty boxes and Bono got up to turn on the television.

"It feels kind of nice to walk around like this," Bono said.

"What, with no clothes on?"

"Yeah."

"I guess so. You can't do this at home, you know, when you have kids. Not even in bed, in case one of them has a nightmare or something." There was a large mirror over the bureau, and Edge stood in front of it to examine himself. Bono sidled up to him and put an arm around him. They both gazed at their reflections, staring into each other's eyes with the mirror.

"I like this look," Bono said. "It looks kind of like you're wearing a skirt." His hand slipped down Edge's back, over his rump, until he could slip it under the fringed end of the towel. His spread fingers stroked Edge's bare behind. "No knickers," he whispered in mock astonishment. "Why you little tart! I should have known. I had you figured out from the beginning." He grinned and breathed into Edge's ear. "I'll bet you're the type who likes to be take...to be bent over a snooker table...or a chest of drawers...."

"Bono, don't talk like that...It makes me feel funny..."

Bono reached out his other hand to caress the mahogany of the bureau, and he stepped behind Edge.

"Bend over, you little tart."

Bono didn't remove Edge's towel, he just pushed it up around his waist, like a skirt. Keeping one hand possessively on Edge's rump, he reached down and rummaged through Edge's suitcase, coming up with a bottle of hand lotion. "I knew it," he snickered. "Hand cream in your suitcase. You expect me to believe that you actually use this on your hands?"

Bono opened the bottle, pouring its contents into his palm and spreading it on himself and Edge. "Hold still," he said, as he carried out the most difficult part of the process. He put a finger on Edge's lips when he cried out. "Shhh...I'm not going to hurt you. Just relax, I'm not going to move any more until you're comfortable. I promise. Oh, it feels so good. I cannot describe how incredible it feels to be inside you. You know, when I was seventeen I had a wet dream about you. I was in a crowded room, people I didn't know, and as I walked through I rubbed up against someone...but I didn't feel anything. I moved onto someone else and did the same thing, and then another person, but just for a moment; I didn't know why I was doing it. Then I saw you. I walked right up to you and put my arms around your neck and rubbed up against you and it felt so good and I pressed harder and rubbed faster and harder and faster and harder and when I woke up I was..."

Edge started to push back against Bono. He kept his head down; he couldn't stand to see the image in the mirror, but Bono was relishing it, watching himself fucking Edge. He liked to see the sweat running over his chest, trickling down onto Edge's back. He believed that sweat was a good way to rid oneself of impurities, of demons, and he liked the thought of his sin being expelled and dripping onto Edge. He leaned forward and pressed a moist cheek to Edge's shoulder.

"Does that feel good? Tell me how good it feels...tell me..."

But Edge just grunted softly until Bono finished with a scream.

Bono's knees weakened, and he pulled Edge to the floor with him. Hunkered down in the space between the bed and bureau, he held Edge and told him how good he was.

"I don't feel very well," Edge said. Tears coursed down his face.

"Oh, no no no don't cry. Please don't cry. You know I didn't mean to hurt you..."

Edge got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Bono followed, but found the door locked. "Edge? Are you alright?" Silence. "Edge, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Why didn't you tell me to stop? I would have stopped the moment you asked me to. Come on, open the door." Bono turned, leaned back against the wall and slid down. He sat there for a long time, long enough to realize how appalling it was, what he'd done. At the time it seemed so right. It didn't occur to him, that Edge might not have shared what he felt.

Edge emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe.

"I'm going back to my room."

Bono stood up and blocked Edge's path. "Wait, don't do that. Please. If you leave now, it'll just make it that much more awkward when we see each other again. Please. Stay. Let's watch a movie. There must be a movie starting. Americans have so many channels." And indeed, a quick browse found a broadcast of "Star Trek III."

"Which ones are good? Is it the odd-numbered ones?"

"No, the second and fourth ones were good. The rest were bad." Edge shook his head.

"You know what's funny about Star Trek," he said suddenly, "is that their vision of the future grows more comical as real-life technology progresses. On the original series, they anticipated things like matter transport and laser weaponry, but all the numeric indicators on the ship were styled like odometers and flip-number alarm clocks, and data was stored on tapes. The producers of the show had no concept of digital technology."

Bono was glad Edge was talkative again, but he answered despondently. "Yes, it's amazing how difficult it can be for a reputed visionary to anticipate such seemingly simple things."

Bono fell asleep before the movie ended.

A common saying is "Aw, aren't they cute when they're asleep?" A naughty puppy, a problem child; these creatures can be forgiven when one happens upon them slumbering, for at that moment they appear so peaceful and innocent.

But not Bono. His face lost none of its mischievous charm when he was asleep. Edge was distraught, gazing upon that visage and finding no consolation in its expression.

Bono was a heavy sleeper, so he was not disturbed when Edge got up, got himself dressed, and left. He was relieved to find Lana still at the concierge desk when he reached the lobby. She seemed to be unoccupied at the moment, but he approached gingerly. Lana saw him and smiled, not her pasted-on smile that she used for spoiled, demanding hotel guests, but a real smile.

"Hello, No-Name," she said. "How can I help you?"

Edge looked down at the counter, and his index finger traced an invisible pattern on the mahogany. He looked like he was sixteen and about to buy his first pornographic magazine. "Em, listen...about those things you said earlier?"

"My New Age rubbish?"

"Well, he said that, I didn't. When does your shift end?"

"Can you wait half an hour? Meet me then at the Blue Moon Cafe. It's just around the corner. By the way," she said, "are you ever going to tell me your name?"

Edge smiled enigmatically as he headed for the door.

 

 **SIX**

"So you believe in an invisible man in the sky who watches our every move, but you don't believe in auras?"

"Hey, now, I didn't come here to be insulted."

Lana set her tea on the table next to the cafe's couch. "Forgive me, I forgot myself. But tell me, did God not create the stars and planets?"

"Well, yes, but He controls our destiny, not the stars." There was an awkward silence, the silence between two intelligent people who've just realized that the discussion they're having is completely pointless. Edge then asked, "What color is my aura?"

"Yours is blue, turquoise specifically, although I believe it was tinted a little differently when I first saw you. It may just be the light. Unless..." Lana looked Edge up and down, and then deep into his eyes. "You and your friend...did the two of you make love earlier this evening?"

Edge jumped and grabbed his jacket. "Em, listen, it was great meeting you, but I really must be going..."

Lana grabbed his arm and pulled him back down onto the couch. "Sit," she said. "It's alright. Who am I going to tell? I don't even know your name. It is actually quite apparent. Sex changes the color and intensity of a person's aura dramatically. That is why I assumed your friend was a Scorpio. They are very sexual people. Is he a Scorpio?"

"I wouldn't know."

"When is his birthday?"

"The tenth of March."

"Ah, then he is a Taurus. Quite different than I expected. And you?"

"My birthday? Is the eighth of August."

"That makes you a Leo. Oh..." Lana looked down, suddenly disheartened. "I don't know whether to admire you or feel sorry for you."

"Why? What does that mean?"

"Leo and Taurus, they are two very stubborn signs. Your commitment to each other is strong, no doubt?"

"No doubt."

"And I'll bet it is rarely questioned. You have come to depend on one another, whether you like it or not. Even if you hated each other, it would be difficult for either of you to disengage and move on. I guess what I mean to say is: You two are basically stuck with each other."

"You said it." Edge smiled, the memories of his time with Bono growing fonder, for a moment.

"But you are facing desperate troubles now, I can tell, or your devout Christian self wouldn't have come seeking my advice. Well, I can see what your problem is. I'm not going to tell you, because you have turned it over in your own mind so many times, to articulate it would be redundant. I will only say this..." Lana took Edge's hand in hers, looking out the window rather than into his eyes so as not to seem accusatory. "You must learn, that saying 'No' is not the same as saying 'I don't love you.'"

 

 **SEVEN**

When Edge returned it was light outside. He opened the door to find Bono sitting at the end of the bed, fully dressed. He was holding a hairbrush. "Sit," he whispered.

Edge removed his hat and sat next to Bono, who started in on his hair with a gentler touch than he'd ever used before. Edge relaxed into the silence, taking comfort in Lana's assurance that he and Bono would be together for a long time. There was a moment of silence, of peace. A kinship, like two planets momentarily aligning in their separate orbits.

When Bono finished, he set the brush down and put his hands on Edge's shoulders. "So what new things have you learned?"

Edge took the book from on top of the bureau and opened it, proudly unfolding an extended page with a kaleidoscopic timeline of the universe. Edge ran his finger across the timeline. "It says, 'Astrophysicists now have a pretty clear idea how the universe got from the Big Bang to where it is today, and how it will evolve in the unimaginably distant future.'"

The illustration resembled an elongated funnel turned on its side. It started from a single point, the Big Bang. The funnel was red-orange at it's mouth, a brief, explosive moment of electromagnetic radiation. Quarks gathered and became the nuclei of atoms. In a trillionth of a second the universe grew from the size of an atom to the size of a grapefruit, and in another hour it was nearly the size we know it as being today.

The Stelliferous Era was represented on the funnel by a tiny encapsulated field of multi-colored sparkles and swirls. It was where raw materials, like helium and hydrogen atoms, condensed into stars, and galaxies took shape. The solar system formed five billion years ago, and the first life forms manifested themselves on earth a surprisingly short time afterwards. Modern humans showed up a mere, miniscule, infinitesimal hundred thousand years ago.

It will be a few billion years before dark energy causes the accelerated expansion of the universe and renders it uninhabitable. Planets will detach from stars, galaxies will disperse and evaporate. All that will remain will be degenerate stellar remnants; stars that collapsed into black holes or withered into white dwarfs. Most of the universe will be reduced to protons.

The funnel grew along two mirrored parabolic curves as it stretched off the page, leaving a maroon block that faded to blue, then black. For ten trillion trillion trillion years even the protons themselves will decay, until all that remain are photons, neutrinos, and positrons, drifting rootless through a universe which has expanded to a size bigger than the mind can conceive. From there until the infinite future, the universe will remain cold, dark, bleak.

"Interesting theory," Bono said, with an emphasis on the second word. He'd always had a healthy Christian contempt for the Big Bang. He didn't understand any of that cosmological gibberish, but he liked the illustration. It looked poetic. He pointed at the last section, the Dark Era. "Doesn't it give you an incredible feeling of peace to see this part? The universe will decay just like our bodies do when we die. All the pain ever felt, all the evil the human race has ever done, gone. Meaningless. It won't be long before everything becomes silence and tranquility."

"Well actually," Edge said, "It'll be trillions and trillions of years, yet."

"I can wait," Bono said.


End file.
